


Third Time's The Charm (or: how Damian convinces everyone weddings suck)

by CaughtInATalespin



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Super Sons (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Damian thinks weddings are a terrible idea, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, especially his own, everyone starts to agree, except Tim and Jason maybe, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaughtInATalespin/pseuds/CaughtInATalespin
Summary: Jon and Damian are getting married (or, well, they're trying to!) With protective villains and estranged League of Assassins family members interrupting wedding plans left and right, everyone's desperate for them to finally tie the knot. Except maybe Tim and Jason, who through this insane experience somehow come together to discover they might want something... more.TLDR: I woke up one day wanting to write a DCU character saying, “my hangover has a hangover”. This is the dubious result.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne (background), Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	Third Time's The Charm (or: how Damian convinces everyone weddings suck)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, welcome to my first fic in the Batman-affiliated universe! I've had this idea knocking about my head for awhile, starting writing it on my phone, but it's taken me some time to really flesh the story out. Don't know where the rating's going but I'll leave it at M at the moment to be safe. Here's the first installment for now, but please note I won't necessarily be updating super speedily or super regularly, though I'll try my best. As always, life happens. I don't see it becoming a monster of a fic, so hopefully you won't be in suspense for long. 
> 
> Another quick note that my DCU knowledge and subsequent characterizations are primarily limited to Super Sons and Red Hood-related/ RHATO Rebirth-era comics, YJ and some DC animated movies, and like, the shit ton of incredible fanfics hosted on this site.
> 
> Without further ado, here's the first part of the story I just stayed up all night editing instead of writing a paper (it's past 6am now oh boy)

Five years ago, if you’d asked Bruce Wayne which of his sons he thought would get married first, he never would’ve guessed Damian. Not because he was the youngest, no, but because... well, anyone who’s ever spent five minutes in Damian’s presence would say he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Dick had denied this vocally (and to an embarrassingly tearful length, much to Damian’s horror) at the rehearsal dinner, saying he’d known all along. But then again, he’d offered the story of Damian throwing disturbingly sharp, well-concealed shurikens at him when startled awake as a “cute” anecdote. Really, Bruce thought with a sigh, how his first Robin has survived so long with so little sense of self-preservation is hardly his fault, _Clark_.

Still, the caped crusader mused as he watched his now-grown youngest pace the dressing room, brushing imaginary lint off his spotless tux with a nervous scowl, maybe it wasn’t so surprising a development after all. Of all his sons, Damian had been the one least looking to find love. Least desperate to lose himself in another person, anything to take the edge off the hysteria that slowly seeped into every crimefighter’s battle-weary bones. Over the years, Damian had found himself, reconciled his past deeds and present ideals so thoroughly he’d made space in his life for a real future. And Bruce couldn’t be more proud.

“...Father, are you even listening to me?”

Bruce blinked away his ramblings to see his youngest wearing an annoyed and vaguely frenzied expression.

“Sorry, Damian. I was just thinking... what were you saying?”

It was a sign of Damian’s nervousness that he didn’t react beyond a brief narrowing of his eyes.

“I was simply saying that this entire ceremony is a waste of time,” he said after a moment. “Despite his often outlandishly unrealistic deductions, perhaps that British detective character was correct to say weddings are a…,” he paused, remembering. “Ah, yes. A celebration of all that is false, specious, irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world.”

(“I should never have let Tim introduce you to Sherlock,” Bruce muttered under his breath.)

“In any case,” Damian continued, “two individuals can maintain a strong union indefinitely without the archaic trappings of marriage. Look at you and Kyle, for instance.”

Bruce winced at the mention of his volatile yet oddly enduring relationship with Selina. _Maybe not the best parental example to set_.

Damian resumed his pacing. “Still, I agreed to be bound to Jon in holy matrimony for life,” he mused, conveniently forgetting he’d in fact been the one to propose.

“If only my Beloved had not insisted so, we could have been married already without such a fuss. It takes no time at all to sign a simple document— perhaps I can still convince Jon to fly us to the courthouse posthaste...”

“Don’t you dare,” Bruce interrupted sternly, seeing Damian already glancing at the exit in consideration. “You will not deprive your family, nor Jon’s the opportunity to celebrate with you two today.” Hearing Damian’s unconvinced <_tt>_ he paused, wondering if he needed to bring out the big guns. “Or do I need to bring Dick in here to convin—“

“You will not,” Damian said, eyes widening in panic. “You will not speak a word of this to Grayson. I refuse to put up with any more of that man’s foolish antics than he has already shamefully displayed while wedding planning.” He sat back down, resigned to his fate. “Perhaps it is better to get the ceremony over with,” Damian muttered. “At least then Richard will stop his... emotional declarations.”

Bruce’s mouth twitched upward in amusement. Trust the prospect of Dick’s puppy-eyed disapproval to be more frightening to Damian than pre-wedding jitters.

He rested a gentle hand on his son’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Damian. You’ll be fine. You love Jon, and he loves you, and formally commemorating that with your friends and family is all that today is. There’s no need to worry.”

Damian looked up sharply. “I am hardly _worried_, Father,” he protested. “It is but a simple ceremony after all.”

Bruce nodded, giving him a reassuring rare smile. “What could go wrong?”

* * *

Tim smoothed his lapels in an idle gesture as he surveyed the rapidly filling chapel in awe.

Jon and Damian had decided early on in their engagement to separate their civilian and superhero personas when it came to wedding celebrations. Their civilian reception would take place at a later date in Wayne Manor, but today was just for their family and friends in the caped community.

At the moment, friends, teammates, and mentors alike mingled among the pews, sans costumes for once, but no less dressed up in formal wedding attire. It looked like at least half the Justice League plus the Titans had shown up, and then some.

Sighing, Tim knocked back a sadly un-caffeinated and non-alcoholic glass of some fizzy drink he’d grabbed from a passing tray. _Ugh, this is what happens when a fun-sucking twenty-one-year-old insists on no alcohol at his own wedding in solidarity with his younger superpowered fiancé_, Tim thought, grimacing at the artificial fruity flavor. _Figures he’d make us all suffer_.

“Wow, what’d that soda ever do to you, Timbo?”

Tim started at the unexpected drawl behind him. _Dare to exist_, he thought, glaring at his cup for another long second. He turned around to greet Jason, only to freeze at the sight of him.

So many of their (almost entirely vigilante) interactions were spent either in costume or ratty post-patrol sweats that it never occurred to Tim that Jason might actually clean up nicely. Well, that and Jason had always complained at length about Bruce’s high fashion tastes and lavish lifestyle choices (which admittedly, were only in small part faked for Bruce’s shallow civilian persona).

But standing before Tim now, decked out in a well-fitted, textured black tux, dress pants snug around his unfairly sculpted thighs (Tim had eyes, thank you), Jason looked practically edible.

“What, are you that surprised to see me?” Jason sounded defensive as Tim’s silent staring went on slightly too long. “Thought I wouldn’t come to the brat’s big day?”

Blinking, Tim recovered quickly. “You’re not fooling me,” he shot back playfully. “You’re just here for the fancy hors d’oeuvres on Bruce’s dime.”

Jason’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “You got me.”

“You look good,” Tim blurted out, before he could help himself. _Why, hello there, stupid childhood crush that never died._ He ruthlessly suppressed any further thoughts in that direction.

“You think so?” Jason asked, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain as he [glanced down at himself](https://thirdculturekid12.tumblr.com/post/188982441096/how-i-imagine-jason-todd-in-a-tux-fancast-as). “Been a while since I’ve gone to any fancy shindigs, so I had to scrounge something up. I just didn’t want the demon brat to get arrested for murdering me at his own wedding after I showed up in my patrol gear.”

“Don’t worry. Dick already confiscated his katana,” Tim responded with a grin.

Jason snorted. “Like he can’t think of at least ten other ways to stab me with his tie pin alone.”

“That would be quite the headline. ‘Former crime lord-turned-vigilante tragically ended in wedding tantrum by teenage heartthrob Damian Wayne.’ Think Lois would agree to write it?” Tim asked innocently.

“Whatever, _Red Robin_. Let’s go save poor Dickiebird’s nerves before he blows a damn gasket.”

Glancing across the room Tim noted their fellow former Robin did look particularly manic as he cornered a frightened looking waiter while simultaneously rearranging a flower bouquet obsessively.

“Good idea. Seriously, as much as I hate for Damian to beat me to anything, thank God he’s the first of us to get married,” Tim remarked as they walked over. “Knowing what I know now, God forbid I ever let Dick plan my wedding.”

Jason looked at him with a bit of surprise. “What, you planning to get hitched anytime soon?”

“No, it was just a thought,” Tim said dismissively, though internally he felt a pang at the idea. Relationships among capes were often fleeting, and lasting marriages even rarer, especially among the younger crowd. Honestly, they were all worse than Hollywood celebrities. Tim was realistic. He knew his chances of entering such a serious relationship in the near future were slim. But damn if he didn’t indulge in some wishful thinking on occasion.

_Loneliness is part of this life_, he’d told himself sternly on more than one occasion. _You’ve got more important priorities and people counting on you to fulfill them._

“Yo, Dickie,” Jason called out, startling Tim from his thoughts as he clapped Dick on the shoulder. “Relax before you sweat through your nice new designer suit. What would the brat say if he saw his best man sporting those pit stains?”

“What?!” Dick stuck his palms under his suit jacket, checking his dress shirt in a panic before realizing Jason had been kidding. He scowled. “That’s not very nice, Jay.”

“‘Not-very-nice’ is his middle name. Really, you should know by now, Dick,” Tim quipped, ignoring Jason’s mock-offended look.

Dick looked torn between scolding him and continuing to tear his hair out. Metaphorically of course. No one in the Bat Family was vainer than Dick about their appearance, except maybe Damian. Speaking of which—

“I’ve got to find Damian. We’re all ready to start but he’s disappeared somewhere. _Again!_” Dick considered them, worrying his lip uncertainly. “Herd the guests to their seats if you can? And make sure all the groomsmen and everyone helping with the ceremony are where they’re supposed to be? Please? It would really help.”

Jason seemed ready to argue but Tim shot the frantic best man a thumbs up. “Don’t worry, we can handle it. We’ll make sure everything’s ready by the time Damian arrives. Divide and conquer, right?”

“That’s not what that expression mean—” Jason cut off with a low curse as Tim stood on his foot.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, we get how it works,” he said, waving Dick off as he continued to hesitate. “You grab the brat, Tim deals with the guests, I find a truckload of tissues for the manly tears you’re gonna shed during the ceremony.”

Tim choked back a laugh as Jason continued.

“Then we finally get this show on the road, the grooms get disgustingly sappy with their vows. Or, well, Jon will at least. We see some typically bat-repressed wedding PDA and then they fly off into the sunset for a long sex holiday. Easy. What could go wrong?”

* * *

“Ugh, why did you have to say that,” Tim whined much later, flopping against a slightly singed wall with little grace.

Amazingly, Dick had managed to locate Damian almost immediately and the wedding had begun smoothly, as planned. Only for chaos to erupt a few minutes later as the husbands-to-be met at the altar, stained glass windows blowing out as an explosion rocked the building. Because of fucking _course_ when the wedding officiant asked if anyone could show just cause why the couple shouldn’t be joined together in matrimony, overprotective villains took that literally.

From Professor Pyg to Lex Luthor, it was like Robin and Superboy’s entire rogues’ gallery had shown up to wreak havoc in protest that neither groom was good enough for the other. Hell, even Deathstroke had been seen looming for a little while in the chapel’s shadows before shrugging and vanishing. Which turned out to be a smart choice. Since, obviously, with more than a few pissed off superheroes in attendance, any villainous behavior was quickly suppressed.

Though, as Dick tearfully pointed out, bursting into sobs before being escorted out by an alarmed-looking Bruce, the venue had been all but destroyed. After which, it was decided, the wedding couldn’t possibly continue. (Shuffling out of the chapel, Clark had looked extremely sheepish as he took in the damage his laser vision had done to the intricately carved antique doors.)

Now, one of the last few stragglers in the building, Tim examined his ruined Red Robin-themed tie with a genuinely mournful air. “Guess we should’ve known villainy takes no vacations, not even for a superhero wedding.”

Jason hummed in agreement beside him. “No shit. Though it’s not every day Lex Luthor personally crashes a wedding to give his nemesis’ kid’s almost-husband a last-minute shovel talk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Superman so mortified… or a groom so unimpressed.” Damian’s single disdainful eyebrow raise amidst Luthor’s growing threats had been something to see. Kid had clearly learned from the best. Alfred must have been so proud.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I could seriously use a drink, and I don’t think coffee’s gonna cut it this time,” Tim said tiredly.

Jason glanced over at him as Tim scanned their trashed surroundings with hopeful, exhausted eyes. “You _do_ remember the kid banned booze from the venue, right?”

“Oh damn, I forgot,” Tim groaned. “And I’m definitely not getting up to look for any in the foreseeable future. So there goes a silver lining ending to a shitty day.”

Jason chuckled. “Play nice, baby bird, and maybe your pal Jason will help you out.”

Tim sat up abruptly. “Don’t tell me…”

Jason pulled a frankly ridiculously large flask from seemingly nowhere. “Thought it was worth it to risk the Bat’s wrath to sneak some in,” he said, unscrewing the cap. He held the flask out for Tim to take a whiff.

“Ew, I hate vodka,” Tim grumbled, nose wrinkling. At Jason’s pointed look, he hastily pulled the flask from his grip. “I mean, thank you for your incredible generosity.” He coughed, eyes watering as he took a large gulp.

“There’s more where that came from,” Jason said, eying Tim thoughtfully as he continued chugging the vodka with a screwed up expression. “What’s say we blow this popsicle stand at get smashed at mine? Maybe get cleaned up a bit?”

Tim quickly took stock of his minor injuries before weighing it against his exhaustion levels. He shook his head. “Nope. Said I wasn’t gonna move for a while, remember?”

“C’mon, baby bird. My safe house’s only fifteen minutes away, fully equipped with any vigilante’s first aid needs. And, more importantly, generously stocked with gin and rosé, or whatever fancy shit you pretentious millennials drink these days.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Jason, _you’re_ a millennial.”

“Eh, what the fuck ever.” Jason stood up, cracking his neck as he offered Tim a hand. “Seriously, let’s go,” he said. “You’re not cleaning me out of my best vodka and bitching about it, then leaving me to drink alone.”

Tim considered him, a bit confused. There was something in Jason’s voice that sounded possibly… hopeful? Which gave Tim pause. For all that their relationship was much improved these days, they didn’t really hang out much beyond vigilante-related business. Not that Tim wouldn’t want to get to know Jason better, (un)resolved childhood feelings aside. He just valued their tentative work relationship? Being on good terms? Whatever it was, he treasured it too much to screw it up by pushing Jason’s buttons with more of his unsolicited company, as a potential friend or otherwise.

_Maybe Jason’s just bored? Or maybe he just doesn’t want to be alone right now… and I guess I don’t either_. Tim thought back to his brooding earlier before the villainy shitstorm had gone down, about being resigned to stay lonely. _Screw it_, he decided.

“Fine, I’ll come, but only because you promised me rosé.”

* * *

Dawn always broke swiftly in smog-filled Gotham, as if the sun itself was eager to chase away the shadows that lingered throughout the city’s nighttime hours. Much to the displeasure of one Tim Drake, who found himself scrunching his eyes shut as he woke slowly to the natural light filtering through a nearby window.

“Ugh,” he groaned, shoving his face more deeply into the soft sheets below. “My _hangover_ has a hangover,” was his muffled declaration to the room.

A brief snort came from near his head. Cracking a gunk-smeared eyelid open, Tim noticed a hand holding a steaming mug enter his field of vision, as if on cue. He squinted doubtfully at the sight, before shrugging mentally. _If I'm still asleep, this is the best dream ever. Thank you brain, I've always wondered what it would be like to be served coffee in bed. _Making sleepy eye contact with the angel delivering it, Tim's breath caught at the sight of Jason's soft smile of affection. __Yep. Best. Dream. Ever. __

Mostly on reflex, he grasped the offered handle, inhaling deeply. “Mmm.” He greedily took in the sweet ambrosia that was the scent of black coffee. “I think I love you,” he murmured dreamily, eyes fluttering shut.

Jason's laugh was only slightly strained as he handed over his precious cargo.

“Are you talking to me or the coffee?”

“...Yes.”

“Ha. I doubt the sex was that good, baby bird,” Jason responded wryly.

At that, Tim’s sleepy brain stuttered to a halt, and his eyes shot open in surprise. _The WHAT?!_

Fully awake now, he realized with a jolt that he was not lying on his own temperature-controlled memory foam mattress (a vigilante needed some comforts, okay?), but on a totally unfamiliar bed. Well, not totally unfamiliar. Lately, as they’d cautiously started working on cases together more, Tim had taken to crashing at Jason’s current safe house every so often. But that was always on his shitty lumpy living room couch (Jason’s words, not Tim’s), never in Jason’s bedroom, though Tim had peeked at it in passing. Jason was understandably protective of his sleep and comfy bed, and just enough of a jackass to enjoy Tim’s complaints about his sore back after sleeping on the awful aforementioned couch. Until last night, apparently?

Lying bundled up in surprisingly soft cotton sheets that smelled pleasantly like fresh laundry and something spicy that was uniquely _Jason_, Tim tried to fight off his rising panic. _What the actual fuck did we do now._ He frantically racked his brain, wincing as his hangover made itself furiously known. Aside from a few flashes of memory here and there, he couldn’t get a clear picture or chronology of what had gone down after they’d arrived at Jason’s apartment.

Tim hesitated, wondering how to explain his predicament without freaking Jason out. “Um. Could you maybe... could you repeat that, please?”

Jason frowned, his contented expression disappearing. “What? About the sex not being amazing? I was sort of kidding, but,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Was it not… good? For you?”

“I’m not sure,” Tim began cautiously. “I wouldn’t really know?”

Jason froze. “What? But I thought you’d already— you know— or was that your first…?”

“What? No! No,” Tim backtracked, quickly realizing what Jason had thought. “I mean, not that I have much to compare it to, I guess,” Tim continued, blushing. “But what I meant was… um, let’s just say vodka and I are not friends for a reason, awful burning counter cleaner taste aside. It just tends to kind of make me a bit fuzzy on details, if you know what I mean.”

He glanced up to see Jason’s tense expression morph into one of growing horror.

“You don’t...,” he swallowed roughly. “Do you remember… anything?”

Tim opened his mouth to answer in the negative before pausing, as memories slowly trickled in now that he was fully awake and lucid (or just semi-caffeinated).

_A warm and solid presence at Tim’s side, supporting his weight as he stumbled into the apartment, vision already spinning from the fast-acting vodka…_

_The clink of one bottle, then two, losing count as they were passed back and forth amidst lazy conversation…_

_The quiet whisper of silk as gentle hands helped him remove his ruined suit jacket, plastered to his body with dried sweat…_

_Calloused fingers dabbing carefully at a small cut on his cheek with surprising tenderness…_

_A sharp inhale of breath against his mouth as he pressed his soft lips clumsily against another’s…_

_An unnamable, overwhelming feeling welling up within him as a determined hand stroked him through their intertwined bodies to hazy completion…_

_A jumbled litany of ‘finally’ and ‘yes love, please’ falling from his lips as he gasped, overcome with sensation…_

_Oh_, Tim thought, blinking in shock. _Well, shit._

“I’m sorry, Jason,” he heard himself say. “But… I'm not super clear on what happened.”

_Liar_. _You remember enough._

“Oh,” came Jason’s response, strangely subdued. His expression was filled with self-loathing and something unreadable Tim couldn’t quite place.

“I mean, I know we were both pretty drunk and not thinking clearly,” Tim continued to babble awkwardly, despite the odd lump rising in his throat. “It was, um… really great actually, from what I remember? But don’t worry, I know it didn’t… mean anything more.” _LIE._ “We were just coming off the adrenaline high of the fight earlier or whatever.”

Tim’s chest ached fiercely with every false word he said. He observed Jason’s unhappy expression, wanting to say something, _anything_ else, but not wanting to admit just how much what they’d shared meant to him. It didn’t matter that the details were still fuzzy. He knew what he felt for Jason. But his piecemeal memories being what they were, he didn’t have enough information to really know what last night had meant to _Jason_. And Tim knew his heart wouldn’t be able to take anything less than a serious demonstration of interest. He’d spent so long shoving his desires firmly into the deepest recesses of his tender heart, never daring to believe they could come true. But now they had, and the fallout was horrible.

“Never mind. It’s fine,” Jason said suddenly, moving away from the bed. “You’re right. Shit happens.” He wouldn’t meet Tim’s eyes. “Sucks that you're iffy on the details though. Tough break, cuz it was a pretty sweet time. I’d say let’s do it again but I’m guessing it won’t be happening again anytime soon.”

“Jason—”

“At least you can say you say you’ve followed the whole post-wedding fucking another guest tradition,” Jason continued blithely, voice deceptively casual. Tim felt like his heart had been punched out of his chest.

“Though technically I guess the wedding fell through, right?”

“Right,” Tim echoed back faintly.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Replacement,” Jason said after a moment. The old title dropped from his lips to land like a solid barrier between them. “Gonna take a shower, feel free to see yourself out.” His departing smile as he exited the bedroom was all teeth, too wide and razor sharp to be genuine.

Tim didn’t answer but sat there staring blankly at the door for an immeasurable span of minutes before hearing the shower turn on. Numbly recognizing he needed to leave, he slipped out of the room in a daze, never noticing the once-fragrant cup of coffee lovingly placed in his hands had gone stone cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Helpful comments and relevant tips about how to bring this fic more believably into the DCU are highly welcomed! 
> 
> 1/23/21 edit: re-formatted and slight edits for flow, but no major changes. As a heads up, future chapters for this fic are partially written atm but another lil JayTim plot bunny suddenly made itself known, so I'm mostly devoting time to that.


End file.
